


Stuck with You

by Walor



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dark Knight Rises/Knightfall kind of AU, Day 2: Father Todd, Gentle Sex, M/M, Slade is actually kind of a decent person for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: Bane's taken over Gotham, turning it into a war-torn hell state on the verge of nuclear annihilation. Jason is just trying to make sure the church and the people it shelters make it through the day. To do that he has to secure the alliance of man he never thought he'd see again once he quit the hero business; Slade.





	Stuck with You

He comes at night when the candles burn themselves out.

It’s the only time Jason’s free now. His days are busy and long. There’s always another mouth that needs feeding, another child now orphaned by the recently released Blackgate conscripts, another man or women desperate and on the edge, planning to fling themselves off the nearest Gotham rooftop. The rest of the clergy have abandoned the faith. _If God were real why would he torment the world this way?_ Jason and Father Reilly are the only men who run church now.

The rest have barricaded themselves in their homes. Terrified of Bane’s patrolling mercenaries and Blackgate men. Jason doesn’t blame them. Fear drives many good men to do very bad things in the name of self-preservation. It’s easy to see how, with a monster like Bane roaming the streets alongside the worst of Blackgate and Arkham. In their hands are weapons and free reign to do whatever they wish. The national guard can’t do anything. A city held hostage by a revolutionary with a bomb. Wherever Bruce is—it’s been years since Jason’s seen him, back when he was in green shorts and pixie boots—he’s out of reach or dead. The rest of the family had been out of Gotham during the siege and those that were, like Barbara, are so far underground that even Jason, with all of his inside knowledge, can’t dig them out. 

He’s just a man, a pacifist now, and the congregation and survivors and orphans the church houses grows by the day. So do their needs. Jason is only one man and Reilly is too old. His hands were tied.

Jason’s in the middle of taking stock in the attic a little after one am when the shadows in the room shift. His visitor waits for Jason to finish counting. They’re nearly out of canned food. Another week and they’ll starve. Jason’s cut their rations in half and then again. The children sleep all day from lack of food. They should be running around in excess at their age. Instead, they watch the stolen military tanks drive down the street and cuddle up together to share warmth.

“We need more food,” Jason puts the can down. “More gasoline for the generators would be nice too.”

“You know what that costs you.” The rough voice says and then the owner steps out into the light.

Jason remembers Slade from when he was Robin. They fought and Jason lost—more often than not. Sometimes he won and then, no matter the outcome, Bruce would come and Slade would leave. Then Jason died and Slade was arrested and sentenced to Blackgate. Funny that a war in the streets in Gotham brings them back together. Trapped without any means to escape unless it’s through the plastic inside of a body bag. Jason’s already died and been brought back once. He doubts God will be merciful enough to reverse his death a second time. Slade, on the other hand, isn’t stupid enough to try. He’ll bide his time on the side of the Blackgate inmates. Their lives have never been exactly that simple.

A week into the occupation Jason gets caught bringing supplies back to the church. The men that stop him are lifers, cheeks bearing that identifiable tear-drop tattoo as a symbol of past murders. They have multiple tears and know their way around the grip of a handgun like a fish to water. Slade’s in the area and saves Jason, and thereby the entire church, from the wrong end of a fired bullet. Jason may believe in God, but coincidence he lost faith in long ago—courtesy of a man with a purple suit and a blonde woman he hoped to call yearly on Mother’s Day—Jason knows Slade’s heroism and perfect timing only run as long as Slade’s nostalgia.

It’s useful. Slade has no way out of Gotham and needs a place to lay low while Bane’s men ransack his old haunts. The church is the only place Bane won’t let his men touch. Even a murderer raised in hell believes in a safe haven for young children. Compassion, perhaps or empathy to those so much like himself. At least Jason likes to think that even men like Bane possess something of the sort. He lets Slade stay there when he needs shelter, but only the attic. There’s no telling what the Blackgaters will do if they find out they are willingly hosting Slade. 

The chance to have Slade in reach is too great to pass up. With Slade’s help, he can scare off the wandering raiders, who rifle through the nearby abandoned buildings. Or, even worse, linger at the edge of the church property for an unaccompanied man, woman, or child to wander out. Jason fears that the most.

But Slade doesn’t work for free. Even nowadays where money is useless and the only way Jason gets extra rations from the market is through bartering the candles and blankets the church members make. If he were a less morally just man he’d barter Slade’s housing in the church in exchange for protection. It goes against everything Jason feels about the church being a sanctuary to anyone who’d seek it out. After all, Father Reilly didn’t turn him away when he was injured and covered in blood from the men he’d murdered while pit-mad. He refuses to do it.

Luckily, Slade is a man with a wandering eye and an insatiable appetite for physical touch. It’s easy to get him to agree. Jason secures the church’s protection and an extra pair of hands gathering supplies. All in exchange for something trivial. His body.

Slade is particular about his tastes. Jason has to shave, often, to keep the majority of his body smooth. It’s ironic, Jason thinks, that the knife Talia gave him for revenge is now used to slice away the hair on his thighs—razors, ironically, were the first things to run out in Gotham. Slade likes to be rough, which is easy to hide even the dark marks he puts high on Jason’s neck. Most are hidden under the clerical collar and those that rise above it, only barely, Reilly makes no mention of. 

Slade never hurts him badly. In fact, if Jason’s honest, he’s an attentive and _thorough_ lover. The most humiliating—and that’s a stretch honestly—thing Slade asks Jason to do in exchange for extra help is donning a pair of sheer black stockings and lacy garter belt beneath his cassock. When Jason asked him why the first time Slade told him to wear it he shrugged.

“You have nice legs, why not?”

“Would you prefer it if I were a woman?”

“I don’t prefer you as anything but yourself, Jason. I just think it would be nicer to get a better view of your legs. Hard to do when you don’t have any green panties on hand, but I do my best.”

Never humiliating. Maybe that’s why Jason agreed to it. Maybe that’s why Jason’s started to wear them even if he has no extra task to give Slade. He’s starting to run out of reasons to justify wearing them. No doubt Slade knows that too. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. Like now.

Slade looks around the small space of the attic. There’s a bed in the corner, barely wide enough for Slade let alone two people. Jason ends up sleeping on top of Slade. Tucked under his chin listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s…It’s _nice_. It’s normal. Like there isn’t a war in Gotham. Nothing but a silent piece of time in that quiet moment. Jason likes it more than he’d care to admit. There’s a window on the far wall, open, letting in the cold winter air and boxes of canned vegetables and fruits near the stairs. Somewhere, hidden in the rafters most likely, are Slade’s guns and knives. Stowed away from any curious eyes that wander up. A desk with a map of Gotham marked with the supply drop-offs and areas to outright avoid on top. 

Slade steps further into the room. He slips off his overcoat, then the armor underneath until he’s just in a plain grey shirt. Drops the clothes on the floor as he continues deeper in the room towards Jason until they’re only a hair’s width apart. Sole blue eye glittering down with a small smirk on his face.

“Well?” Slade reaches out a hand and rests it against Jason’s waist. “Show me how much you want that extra food.”

Jason huffs and grabs the robes of his cassock the lifts up. He’s not wearing his dark slacks beneath—took them off and folded them into his dresser drawer an hour ago—so the sheer stockings are immediately visible. Stretched tight over his thighs, the harsh line of the garter belt digging into his hips to keep them up. He flushes hot, cheeks stinging as Slade takes a step back to admire him. Drinking in the sight with a smug and dark-eyed stare. Jason shudders beneath his devoted attention. Heat pools low in his stomach when Slade finally meets his gaze again. Pupils are blown wide with lust.

“You’re so weird,” Jason manages to say. It comes out hoarser than he’d like it, throat inexplicably dry. Slade moves forward again. Runs a finger along the exposed strap of the belt and snaps it against his skin. Jason jumps far more dramatically than he should.

“Says the boy who’s made a habit of wearing them almost daily.” Slade laughs. “Don’t look so shocked. I can tell how often you wash them. There’s even a stitch running along the back of your thigh from overuse.”

“They’re comfortable,” Jason says. Too quickly, too defensive. Slade tilts his head and drags a hand across his waist. Cups Jason’s cock—half-hard already—through the panties he wears with them and squeezes just enough to draw out a gasp.

“Obviously. You’re not the first man I’ve met who’s preferred women’s stockings and underwear to men’s.”

Jason presses further back against the desk while Slade pets him. Rubs his thumb along the damp material over the slit of Jason’s cock and takes his chin between the fingers of his free hand.

“Who was the first?” Nearly breathless. “I’m a little eager to know.”

“Me,” Slade hums and noses along Jason’s jaw, planting kisses down the line of his throat. “The best way to learn is through experience isn’t it?”

“A dare?” Slade bites at the lobe of his ear. Jason arches beneath the attention and pressing up against Slade’s chest. A rumbling laugh in his ear.

“No. Captain of my unit in the army. We had an arrangement. A little like this in a way, but mine was for anger management. He’d make excuses for me decking a lieutenant in the face. I’d have to wear pink underwear while he called me “darling.”

“Abuse of power?” Jason bites his lip as Slade dips his hand beneath his panties then pushes it lower. Finger sliding along the skin of his perineum. 

“Would you call this an abuse of power?” Slade stops. Finger inches away from the puckered skin of his hole. Jason groans and tries to grind down against his hand but Slade pulls back. 

In all logical sense, it should be. Jason’s hands are tied, there is little he can do to offer protection and men like Slade never do things for free. It goes against his new way of life—and while Jason has been lax following the rules in some areas, celibacy, for him, had always been easy to do—which forces Jason to decide between his own code versus the good of the majority. It’s an easy decision, one he’d repeat a thousand times over. Besides, never once has Jason felt like Slade's been forcing him to do something so inherently against his being. Maybe that’s bad, but Jason will take a few hours of guilt for enjoying sex with a man like Slade over watching a child die from lack of food or antibiotics.

Jason shakes his head. Slade assesses him through a narrowed eye before slipping his hand back, pressing against the fluttering skin.

“I wouldn’t call it an abuse of power. Just,” Jason reaches up and wraps his arms around Slade’s neck. “Self-preservation.”

“On that, we can agree.” Slade rubs his finger, wet with Jason’s precome, around his entrance. Teasing, never pressing hard enough to breach the ring of tight muscle. Just enough to get Jason use to the feeling. Peppering kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth and the bridge of his nose until he relaxes enough that if Slade isn’t careful his finger would easily slip inside.

“I’ll be honest Slade,” Jason closes his eyes. Focuses on the way Slade’s free hand runs a finger down the line of his Adam’s apple, past the center of his chest before stopping at the top of his cincture. “When I agreed to these terms I didn’t think you’d be this way.”

Slade hums and loosens the cincture free from his waist. Drops it onto the ground and runs a hand up Jason’s clothed chest. “What way did you imagine?”

“Rough,” _beyond what I would be comfortable with_. Jason remembers the way Slade fought. The vicious glint in his eye when the sharp edges of his katanas met the reinforced protection of the gauntlets Bruce wore. The smirk Jason could hear beneath the Deathstroke mask whenever he’d finally managed to draw blood. Slade Wilson as a man is uncaring, violent, and furious. At his worst, he was nothing more than a snarling animal, no better than a feral dog that attacked just because it could. Jason remembers the scars and bruises on Adeline when Slade was seeing her again. He expected a collection of his own to compare.

So far he’s received nothing.

Slade laughs at him. “Do you want me to be?”

Jason hesitates. _Not really_. Jason likes this. Whatever they have. It’s not meant to be permanent, Jason knows. They’re not boyfriends, hardly allies now even with Jason’s renouncement of the Batman. This is an exchange. Nothing more, nothing less. Still, Jason can’t help but feel like…like a fraud getting such extraordinary treatment from a man who couldn’t bother to do the same for his wife. “Do _you_ want to be?”

“In all honesty, kid, I’d settle for any warm and willing hole to fuck. Not that you aren’t something special because” Slade leans back. Drags his good eye up and down Jason’s body in such a lecherous way even though Jason’s still—mostly—clothed it makes him flush darkly. “Bruce certainly knows how to pick ‘em. 

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Slade pulls his hands back and Jason frowns. Huffing a laugh, Slade presses a peck to Jason’s lips. Barely a brush and it only agitates Jason further. Dropping down to his knees, Slade pushes his thighs apart and kisses the damp fabric over Jason’s prick.

Jason sucks in a breath. “Being so…attentive. You were never like this with Adeline.”

“Because this isn’t what she wanted. In another world, there’s probably a Jason who’d like nothing more for me to bend him over the desk, lift his skirt out of the way and drive into him without any warning.” Slade smirks. Jason leans back and raises a foot against Slade’s chest to kick him back. Slade, instead, takes his ankle, ducks his head and plants a kiss to the bone. Then he does it again a centimeter away. Then again. Travels up Jason’s leg until he reaches the exposed skin and pauses, lips ghosting the forming gooseflesh beneath the warm puff of his breath. He bites down, not hard enough to break skin but Jason gasps aloud, jolting before Slade’s other arm pins him in place.

“ _A-Ah_ ,” Jason falls back onto his elbows. Slade sucks on the skin harder and Jason keens. “ _Slade_.”

He pulls away, kissing the mark as he goes. “As it happens, this Jason Todd, a reformed priest who cares for orphans and battered women and whatever other saintly things you do in your spare time.” Slade returns to kissing. Up the remaining space of his thigh. “Is not,” another one, “like that.”

“What does it matter to you if I am or not? This trade is about giving you what you want in return for what I want. It’s unbalanced if _you_ look at it this way.”

“What I get out of it, pretty bird,” Slade unclips the garter from the stockings. Slowly, agonizingly, pulling each other off as he stares up at Jason. Grinning just enough to show a hint of white canines. “Is your full, undivided attention. In return for my gentleness, I get your cooperation. I get your obedience. I get you to let go of any reservation about me you may still possess and fully relax. That way I can draw out and listen to sounds I’d, under other circumstances, never hear.”

Slade drops the stockings on the floor, forgotten along with his cincture. The panties are next, tossed over Slade’s shoulder with a wet slap. Partially drenched from the precome oozing out of Jason’s cock. Slade leans forward. The stubble on his lips brushing against the head and Jason nearly loses it right there.

“ _O-Oooh_ ,” Jason clenches his hands so tightly he digs harsh, red indents into his palms. 

“Yeah, kind of like that.” 

“Shut up,” Jason says. 

Slade laughs and finally, mercifully, licks a long strip from the head of Jason’s prick down to the root. Infuriating smirk on him all the while. Jason toys with the idea of kicking Slade right in his stupid face. Until Slade licks back up the shaft and swallows the tip. All thoughts white out in a burst of pleasurable static after that.

If there’s one thing Jason’s learned from this arrangement with Slade is that he gives incredible head. The warmth of his slick mouth and the skilled twisting of his tongue alone nearly made Jason reconsider his celibacy—which would go back into _full effect_ once the church no longer needed protection. There was no way a man as deadly an assassin like Slade should be that good. Who knows how he learned, but that teacher—whoever they were—deserved an award. Slade bobs his head and sucks, taking Jason in where he can feel the back of Slade’s throat. If it isn’t for the hand Slade suddenly clamps around the base of his cock Jason would have finished.

Jason whines and drops his head back, hands opening up and clawing against the wood table. “Slade please-“

“Take off your robes, choir boy, and get on the bed.”

“ _Slade_ ,” Jason starts but Slade’s hot mouth his on him again and Jason drops back against the desk. Words drooling out of his mouth as he lies there, helpless on pleasure for a moment then another. Raising shaky hands to his chest as he fumbles with the first out of thirty-three buttons. _Damn it Jesus, would it have killed you to live less than 33 years? I’m sorry God don’t answer that._

Slade is a bastard about the whole thing. Pulls Jason’s thighs closer to bracket his head between them. Beard scraping against the soft, exposed skin, irritating the bite mark left behind. The burn is maddening, a sharp contrast to the attention Slade’s tongue lavishes on the head of his cock. His dick, traitor as it is, twitches at the dual sensations. Bordering on the edge of climax before Slade squeezes too hard at the base to stave off the oncoming orgasm.

It takes Jason far too long to make it halfway down his cassock. Twice he considers ripping the cassock open if only to remove one of the dozens of frustrations he’s suffering from this evening. The idea is quickly squashed in the sheer revulsion of just how pathetic he’d be to disrespect the life the church, and more personally, Reilly had given him. Slade, awful, ungracious, _terrible_ Slade, watches him suffer and makes it worse. Running a finger through the drool dripping out of his mouth, coating it with a thick layer of spit before he touches it to Jason’s hole and presses in.

“S-Slade! Fuck,” Jason arches his back off the table. He can feel the vibrations of Slade’s rumbling laugh around his dick in his _teeth_. “Fuckkk.”

Slade pulls away and grins, pushing his finger slowly inside up to the knuckle. “I got impatient.”

“Fuck you, you fucking bastard- _mmm_ ,” Slade crooks his finger up and rubs it against that sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“That doesn’t sound very proper for a priest to say.” The finger curls and Jason bucks his hips with a startled gasp. “Father Reilly must be very lax with you.”

“Stop, enough, Slade please,” Jason whines shrugging out of the top of his cassock. He has enough buttons undone to step out of it. If Slade stops his assault on his prostate long enough for him to focus. As if reading his thoughts Slade pulls his finger away. Jason takes a steadying breath only for Slade to shove his finger straight back to the knuckle.

“ _Slade_!” Jason groans. Clenching down on his finger, panting heavily. Grits his teeth and finally kicks Slade back, wincing as body shudders at the loss of Slade’s attention. “Asshole.”

“Still quite the detective even without Batman’s help,” Slade pulls his shirt over his head. “Lube and condoms?”

“Where they always are. You can get them.” Jason slips off the table onto shaky legs. Steps out of the cassock and collapses onto the bed still in his clerical shirt and collar. The garter belt, of course, peeks out from underneath the bottom of his shirt. He takes that off first, blush stinging high on his cheeks.

“I never asked, but how old are these condoms? Don’t really see you in your priestly attire walking into a gas station and picking up a box of Trojans. Got to worry about them breaking?”

“Unlike your past bed partners, Slade, pregnancy and STDs are the last things you have to worry about with me.” Jason pulls the white collar free from his shirt and sets it gently on the nearby nightstand. “And I do buy condoms and other products still.”

Slade raises an eyebrow. Jason scoffs. “Not for me. Just because I’m celibate doesn’t mean the rest of the church is. I’d rather they were safe. If you’re that worried about it, don’t use them.”

“Now who’s unsafe?” Slade tosses the box to the side and kicks off his boots. Jason rolls his eyes, unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt. 

“You’d be surprised how detailed Bruce’s files are for some people. I know you’re clean. I have no track record to speak of. There are easier ways to ask for doing it bare for future reference. Honestly, it’s more for the mess.”

“I’ll make sure to leave you clean pretty bird,” Slade purrs. 

Jason glares. His dick, the double-crosser, twitches against the wet pool of precome on his belly. _Bad cock, heel boy_. “You’re vile.”

“And still you welcome me with open thighs every time.” Slade falls onto the bed and Jason closes his legs together. Gun-roughened hands wrap around his ankles and wrench his legs apart. He can’t help but gasp and his cock nearly preens under the attention. Slade stays there for a second, admiring him with an intense and hot stare, running one hand up his calf then the inside of his thigh. “Going to miss getting to see you like this when this nonsense with Bane is over.”

“Not to be pessimistic,” Jason gasps as Slade runs a finger, feather-light, along a vein in his prick. “But how do you know it will end? No one’s ever threatened Gotham with a nuclear bomb before.”

“That you know of.”

“Has been _successful_ in threatening Gotham with a nuclear bomb before.”

Slade cracks open the bottle of lube and smears a decent amount on his fingers. Jason sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut when Slade finally pushes his finger back in. “Joker for one.”

Jason opens his narrowing eyes. “If you want to get kicked out of the bed and a bounty on you, you won’t say that name-“

Slade kisses him. Hard, like he wants to burn the taste of his lips onto Jason’s mouth. Jason attacks him. Arms wrapping tight around Slade’s neck, dragging him down halfway on top of him. Crushes the breath right of Jason’s lungs but he doesn’t care. Maybe he should. The fact that he enjoys this arrangement so much is already a major problem. Goes against the rules of his new life. Goes against the rules of his old one too. Jason’s not into playing boyfriend with a man like Slade anyway. No matter how much he’ll miss this.

Slade parts, moving back just enough that their lips lightly brush one another. Looks at Jason. Drinks in the flecks of green in his blue eyes and kisses him again. Softer, but deeper open mouth kisses that turn into bites while Slade sucks on the bottom of Jason’s lip. Jason’s adrift, swept away with the tingling sensation of Slade’s mouth ignoring the sting as Slade fits a second finger inside of him. Gasps along with that burn that comes when a third joins them.

Slade pulls away, dragging his teeth along Jason’s jaw before digging them in along his neck. Jason sighs, rocks his hips down against the fullness of Slade’s scissoring fingers.

“How do you feel?” Slade murmurs against his neck. Jason shivers at the vibrations. They travel down his spine and settle in his stomach, joining the burning heat of arousal. 

“Good, as always. You’re always unfairly good.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice and you are very easy to please.”

“Too bad your pillow talk is abysmal.” Slade pinches a nipple with a free hand.

“Ow- _oooh_ ,” Jason arches up into Slade’s touch as those three fingers press against his prostate. He keeps them there, rubbing the spot torturously slow. “O-Ok, _ah_ , ok enough. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

Jason grabs a handful of Slade’s hair and yanks it back. Slade allows it, grinning down at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“As if I could do that.”

Slade withdraws his fingers, gives Jason one parting stroke. Grabs the lube bottle and slicks up his cock and presses against the tender skin of Jason’s hole. Slides in without a lick of resistance. Slade’s impossibly thick. Thicker than a normal man should be. Could be the result of the super-human serum or whatever bullshit Slade went through to gain metahuman abilities. The first time Jason took it, it rendered him an incoherent, drooling mess. Only capable of kittenish little mewls as he gripped the bed and nearly feel his soul leave his body. He’s not being dramatic when he says that Slade’s stupid prick could turn a faithless man devout. Certainly made Jason feel something.

Now Jason whines, burying his face into Slade’s chest. Pants wetly against sweaty skin as he adjusts to the paralyzing ache that leaves him helplessly fucked on Slade’s cock. He’ll never admit it. Not even under threat of physical violence, but Jason likes being held down and filled so impossible deep it leaves him vulnerable. At the mercy of his partner to the point where he can do nothing but dig his nails into Slade’s back and _hold on_. 

“Next time you need a favor,” Slade grunts. “I want you to wear your pretty little priest clothes when I fuck you. I want you to remember what you are when I pin you down and stuff you full Jason.”

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Jason moans. “Slade.”

“That’s it boy, let it out.”

And he does. A litany of mewls and whimpers and keens rush out of him like water out of a dam. Babbling the embarrassing way he does when he has sex. He curses and whines, begging Slade to _move faster damn you_ and when Slade does, punishing him with pounding thrusts that land hard against his oversensitive prostate, pleads _wait a-ah, Slade, oh, oh, oh, slow down_. He could come from getting fucked alone, but Slade slicks up a free hand and jerks him over with clever and strong fingers.

“If you were mine, pretty bird, I don’t think I could bear to let you go.” Slade pants. Short strands of silver hair falling against his damp forehead. “I never would.”

“Not, ha, _haaaa_ , yours. Never yours.”

“I know,” Slade ducks his head and sucks at Jason’s collarbone. “You deserve better.”

Jason comes suddenly, rapturously, against his stomach. Vision whiting out while his toes curl against the bed. Slade milks him through it. Presses his hips flush against Jason’s ass and just rocks. The head of his cock hitting just right against his tender and raw prostate. Thoughts flee from his mind, leaving Jason with only one desperate word.

“Slade, Slade, Slade, Slade, _Slade, ah_.”

Slade tilts his head up and kisses him nearly distraught. Kisses Jason like it’s their last second on Earth. A fever-hot touch, all-encompassing driving away the idea of Bane, the Blackgate inmates, the bomb, everything. Slade finishes like that. Stealing the air from Jason’s mouth, hand coming up to cradle his face. Fills Jason with to the point of pain and pulls out, leaving him an empty and twitching mess.

Slade draws away and shushes him. “Easy, Jason. Relax.”

Hollow and blissed out Slade tugs Jason against his chest. Wraps his arms tight around him and dots little pecks across his sweaty forehead. It takes minutes for Jason to finally breathe normally again, sticky, but warm in Slade’s arms. He has to say something. Has to drag himself out of the moment before Jason starts thinking those terrible, _terrible_ words. _I could get used to this._

“Are we square now?”

Slade stiffens instantly. Languid post-sex looseness draining out of him in one fell swoop. Jason hates that despite the life of generosity he now leads he is still exceptionally cruel. Slade sighs.

“Of course we are, Jason.”

Jason frowns and closes his eyes. “I think I’m going to have to find something else to barter with. Sooner or later one, if not both of us, are going to run out of excuses for this. We’ll have to acknowledge it isn’t about the arrangement anymore.”

“And that just won’t do,” Slade smiles, but it’s a tense and lonely one. 

‘No, it won’t.”

Slade doesn’t argue. Doesn’t rise to the defense of a possible relationship. Both know the bitter truth of it all. It won’t work. Barring the fact that their lifestyles just don’t match—priest, deadly assassin called Deathstroke the Terminator—Slade is a man that thrives on physicality and violence. Jason is neither anymore. Convincing themselves to love the impossible would only hurt them more.

Now though, in Bane’s apocalyptic near-death state they can bend the rules a little bit. Even if it is under the guise of a trade.

Then Slade flips him over. Jason goes to push himself up but Slade holds him still with a hand on his shoulders.

“We’ll save that conversation for another time. For now,” and Jason can _hear_ how filthy the grin on Slade’s face must be. “I remember something about cleaning you _thoroughly_ , baby bird.”

What a fucking bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> epilogue:   
> *3000 words of ass eating later *  
> slade: you said 'i love you' 9 times while i was rimming you  
> jay: well, i'd like you to know that i meant it the last five times
> 
> Courtesy of discount jesus on discord. The true end.


End file.
